The Bleeding Hart
by teachinEnglish
Summary: It's July 23, 1944, and Philip Marlowe, a private investigator, has been hired to follow Jennifer Manning. Things don't go according to plan, and things aren't quite what they seem.


The Bleeding Hart

It was a stifling, stormy day in Los Angeles on July 23, 1944, and he watched as the rain pelted the windows of his third-story office. The gray of the low, overhanging clouds matched the dreariness of his life. He jumped as lightning electrified the atmosphere. Or maybe it was her. Suddenly, his office was as charged as the air outside, and he turned from the window as the sultry, sexy redhead glided to his desk. Her husky, seductive voice washed over him and made the hair at the nape of his neck stand on end, as the golden fire from her eyes consumed him. It took a moment for his brain to register the gun she was holding on him.

"Mr. Marlowe, I'd like to know why you've been following me for the past three weeks."

He tried his best Bogart on her. "Well, Doll, it's like this."

She had no patience for an unending story that was probably a lie anyway. "You're not Sam Spade, and this isn't _The Maltese Falcon_. The truth, please."

He shrugged slightly as he rested a hip on his desk. This time, he answered her in his own voice, and she found that she liked it much better. Too much, in fact. "There isn't much I can tell you. Client privilege and all."

She nodded once. "Um-hm. I see. However, I'm the one holding a gun on you, and I must insist that you tell me who is so interested in my rather mundane life."

He pursed his bottom lip and nodded back at her. "Doll, there ain't nothin' mundane about you." He gave a slight shrug. "Maybe it doesn't matter anyway. It isn't like I've found anything."

"Did you tell my husband that?"

Marlowe gave a short chuckle. "If you already know who hired me, why are you here?"

He watched as the fear flooded her fathomless brown eyes. "Perhaps I'm hoping you can help me stay alive."

Jennifer Manning's vulnerability clawed at him, but he needed to keep his distance. There was no way he wanted to make an enemy out of her husband. While he played the part of an upstanding businessman, everyone in Los Angeles knew that there was a seedy, mean, and dangerous side to Elliot Manning. He was not someone anyone crossed and lived to tell about it.

Since his Bogart didn't work, he went with a different endearment that fit her just as well. "Look, Darling, I don't know what I can do for you."

She stared into his startling blue eyes and edged toward him. Something about Philip Marlowe made her feel safe and reckless at the same time. Unfortunately, that recklessness was taking over, and she reached up to run her fingers through his thick, sable hair. Jennifer had never used her sexuality to get what she wanted before, but this was life and death, and some instinct told her to trust the man in front of her. Her voice wasn't much more than a whisper. "Mr. Marlowe, please. If you don't help me, I don't know who will."

He'd enjoyed looking at her over the past weeks as he'd followed her. He'd definitely had his fair share of fantasies about her. But when she touched him, nothing mattered more to Philip than having this woman in his arms, even though involvement with a married woman was a line he didn't cross. At least, he hadn't before. This time, he threw caution to the wind. "Darling, if you're going to kiss me, you should at least call me by my given name."

His name on her lips was a siren's song, and her eyes held him spellbound. "Philip, please."

He crushed his mouth to hers and weakened her knees. No one had ever kissed her like this, like he was dying, and she was his last breath. His lips traipsed down her neck and made her moan. Smiling against her silky skin, he moved over that little spot again and felt his body respond to the hitch in her breath. Suddenly, he stilled and whispered in her ear. "We shouldn't be doing this." Slowly, he released his grip on her. "You weren't followed, were you?"

It was rare for her to be without a chaperone, but she'd convinced Elliot that going to the hospital to read to sick children didn't require one of his goons to follow her. Since he had been in a heated discussion with his second in command at the time, she used the opportunity to her advantage. "No. Elliot thinks that I'm doing charity work at the hospital next door."

"He'll kill us both if he finds us together."

Her eyes were sad when she looked at him. "He's going to kill me anyway. I've become too much of a liability to him. He proved that by hiring you to follow me." She took an envelope out of her purse. "I have to go. If you choose to help me, this will tell you what to do next." She placed the envelope beside him before hurrying out of the office.

He sat for a long time on the corner of his desk, his body reeling from her touch. His last thought as he picked up the envelope was that he was a dead man walking.

...

Jennifer steeled herself for an interrogation as she walked through the front door of the mansion. She came home from the hospital a little earlier than planned to appease her husband. However, everything in the mansion was quiet, and it was eerie. As she wandered from room to room, her curiosity grew. Eventually, she heard a noise and followed it out the back doors to the patio. Elliot and several of his business associates were lounging around the pool, drinks and cigarettes in hand. Her husband didn't have either in his hands; instead, he had a buxom blonde. Jennifer just shook her head. "I guess I got home a little sooner than you expected."

Elliot's head whipped around. "Jennifer." He stood, and the woman on his lap landed unceremoniously on the ground. "I'm glad you're home."

She just laughed wryly. "Sure, you are." Asking for form more than anything, she queried, "Am I expected at the club tonight?"

He tried to kiss her, but she turned her cheek to him. "Of course. I always want my best girl on my arm and on my stage."

She speared the blonde with a look. "Well, then I'll let you get back to your version of relaxing with your not so best girl. I'm going to go up and get some rest before I'm put on display tonight."

His eyes narrowed at her comment. "Wear red."

She gave him a forced smile. "Don't I always?" As she made her way to her room, she sighed. Jennifer had given up crying over Elliot's affairs a long time ago, but the embarrassment of him flaunting a woman in front of her, in front of their household, that never went away. After she found the first woman in the bed she'd shared with Elliot, she moved into her own suite. Far too late, she realized that he only married her to look legitimate to the outside world. Divorce wasn't an option. There was no way she would ever go crawling back home to give Steven Edwards the satisfaction of being able to say, "I told you so." As much as she loved and missed her father, their relationship was strained, to say the least. Jennifer was also practical enough to know that Elliot Manning would never let her leave. She was a possession to him, a trophy, and a huge draw to his club, The Hideaway, when she sang. Sitting in front of her vanity, she traced her reflection in the mirror and wondered what had happened to that girl with all those dreams. Her own voice startled her. "Oh, Jennifer. How did you ever let yourself get into such a mess?"

...

Philip Marlowe sat at his desk. His feet, covered in brown and white spats, were crossed at the ankles on top of a stack of papers. He turned the envelope over and over in his fingers, while he worried a matchstick between his lips. Finally, he slid one finger under the flap and removed the folded paper. Jennifer's elegant script filled the page.

_Dear Mr. Marlowe,_

_If you're reading this, then I've put your life in grave danger also. As I'm sure you're well aware, my husband, Elliot Manning, isn't the upstanding businessman he projects to Los Angeles. He's wonderful at fooling people; goodness knows he had me fooled for a long time, but the mask is slipping, and his greed consumes him. I don't know what I expect you to do; I only know that I can't go to the police. Elliot has too many officers and judges in his pocket. I'm not even sure why I trust you. Maybe it's because you aren't a very good private investigator, considering I knew you were following me after the first night. Maybe it's your eyes; they're very honest, and I haven't had a lot of honesty in my life. All I do know is that there is something that draws me to you, which is dangerous for both of us._

_Elliot is heading toward a major downfall. He has several business ventures which have failed, and some of his associates are losing confidence in him. He has little left except for my trust fund and the Bleeding Heart. This is why I'm convinced my days are numbered. Once he figures out a way to gain access to my funds, he won't need me anymore. I don't think he'll wait until I'm 30. I'm sure Elliot hired you to establish whether or not I had anyone outside of his "family" that I could turn to. As you can see, I don't. I'm watched constantly, especially when I'm at the club. Being able to get away today for a couple of hours took a major negotiation on my part and probably wouldn't have happened at all if Elliot hadn't been in an argument with Mr. Brewster._

_I don't see you as part of the Sunset Strip nightclub scene, but if you read this, please come to The Hideaway tonight. Have a drink, make sure I see you across the room, and burn this as soon as you finish reading it._

_With hope,_

_Jennifer_

Philip sat and pondered why in the world Jennifer would take the risk of getting him this letter. They didn't know each other, and he had no idea how he could help. He was a simple private eye who stood no chance in going up against a man as powerful as Elliot Manning. After her insult about his skills, he wondered if he even wanted to help her. Then he thought about that kiss. Philip was a man who absolutely believed in love at first sight, and God help him; he knew he was in love with a mobster's wife. He wasn't a fool, though; he knew that she was only using what she had to convince him to help her. She wasn't the type to fall in love with the likes of him. She was way out of his league. He stood to pace, but the air was still muggy, and the rattletrap, metal fan did nothing but push soggy air around the room. He decided to call it a day, and he decided that he would show up at The Hideaway for a drink and a song. Maybe Clora Bryant, Satchmo, or Dizzy Gillespie would be playing tonight. That was the only reason Marlowe was ever tempted to stop in. He was a sucker for jazz. The last thing he did before leaving his office was burn her letter in his trash can.

Chapter 2

Later that evening, Marlowe sat on a barstool at one of the hottest clubs on the Sunset Strip. The interior was a riot of color. Silk covered sofas, ceilings painted bright red, and pale pastel silk-covered walls. Movie stars, musicians, and the elite of Hollywood came to drink and be noticed here, and he'd heard a rumor that there was an underground tunnel that led to what used to be a hotel but was now used as a sanctuary for the elite to behave badly. Looking around, Philip realized that he stuck out like a sore thumb. Some as yet to be discovered trumpeter was trying to get noticed on stage, and Philip hadn't seen Jennifer. In the three weeks that he'd been trailing her, he'd never bothered to follow her while she was at The Hideaway. Manning had said it wasn't necessary since he owned the joint. Just then, Marlowe watched the man himself approach with a false smile on his face. "Mr. Marlowe, what brings you here tonight?"

Philip tried to play it off and shrugged his shoulders. "Eh, a lot of hype, a new client, and good Scotch."

Elliot looked the detective up and down, not even trying to hide his disdain. "Isn't part of your job to try to be inconspicuous? You know, to blend in?"

The other man laughed. "You'd be surprised how many people never see me. I find that they only see what they want to see, when they want to see it."

Elliot felt as though he'd just been insulted, but he couldn't figure out exactly how. He simply nodded and signaled to the bartender. "Enjoy your night. Let me know if you find out anything new." He looked to the rather vanilla barkeep. "Stanley, Mr. Marlowe's drinks are on the house tonight."

Philip raised his glass in a toast to the owner. "That's much appreciated, Mr. Manning. I'll be in touch."

He was surprised when Max Brennen sat down at the bar next to him. Max was a well-known gambler who'd made a name for himself by being honest in a dishonest profession. There were those who tried to get him to throw games, but most knew that there was no way to put the squeeze on him. He had too much dirt on everyone else in the game. "Ain't seen yous in a blue moon, Marlowe."

"Haven't had need of your services or connections for a while."

As usual, Max cut straight to the chase. "In other words, business is bad."

Philip laughed at the candor. "It could always be better, Max."

"Whatcha doin' here tonight? Ain't never seen yous in here before."

Philip shook his head. "I'm not entirely sure. For now, I'm enjoying the music and ambiance."

Max laughed his gravelly laugh. "Ambiance? Stick around long enough and yous'll get more than an eyeful of it."

They shared the silence for a while, but eventually, Max headed toward the back of the club where there was a hidden door to a hidden room that housed a hidden game. It was definitely the type of game that was too rich for the likes of Philip Marlowe. After watching Max pound out the "shave and a haircut" knock left over from the old speakeasy days, he turned his back on the room for a while, content to watch the goings-on through the mirror behind the bar.

Suddenly, the hair on the nape of his neck stood on end, and he felt the electricity in the room change the minute she stepped on stage. Turning slowly on the barstool, he focused on the stunning redhead preparing to sing to the crowd. He noticed that most of the men in the room were riveted on her, and he was no different. Philip drank in everything about her. Her whiskey-colored eyes, pert little nose, and stunning smile all set in a gorgeous face framed by thick, auburn hair, which hung in soft waves to her shoulders and was held back by a jeweled clip. Draped over her body was a red, V-necked, silk dress with a short train that accentuated her lush curves and around her neck was her albatross. The Bleeding Heart; a necklace fit for a queen, or a mobster's wife. The Bleeding Heart was set with over 30 carats of pave set diamonds with a millegrain finish to the platinum heart. Interspersed amongst the diamonds was another 35 carats of rubies in various sizes, but the crowning glory of the pendent was the flawless 22 carat teardrop ruby hanging from the point of the heart. It nestled beautifully between Jennifer's full breasts.

As she sang "I'll Never Smile Again," her eyes roamed the room and eventually connected with Philip's. It was as though she sang directly to him.

I'll never love again

I'm so in love with you

I'll never thrill again

To somebody new

Within my heart

I know I will never start

To smile again

Until I smile at you

For a few moments, they were the only two in the room, a fact that, unfortunately, did not go unnoticed by Elliot Manning.

...

_Jennifer sat next to her husband as he lay motionless in the hospital bed. The last twenty-four hours had been the most frantic of her life. She'd been busy working on a story, while Max and Jonathan had tickets to the Dodgers/Pirates game at Dodger Stadium. When she got the call from Max that Jonathan had been hit by a foul ball and was headed to Wilshire Memorial, nothing else mattered. The next few hours crawled by as she and Max waited for any news about the emergency surgery being performed to stop the brain bleed caused by the ball. After five hours, the doctor finally informed them that Jonathan was stable and expected to recover, but he was in a coma. There was some response to certain stimuli, but they were now in a pattern of wait and see._

_Patience in a hospital setting was not one of Jennifer's virtues. In order to help pass the time, she worked on her article about lost and stolen jewels, but most of the story would revolve around one pendant specifically. As she researched and wrote, she shared her findings with Jonathan, knowing he might not be able to hear her but needing to talk to him, nonetheless._

_..._

As Marlowe sat transfixed, two of Manning's associates approached him. "Mr. Manning would like to speak to you."

When they flanked him, Philip knew he was in trouble somehow. "I'll find him in a bit." He held his glass up. "I'd like to finish my drink first."

One overly large man vised Philip's arm with a hand that looked as if broke bricks for fun. "Now, and it's not a request."

Philip flashed a smile that normally won everyone over. "Well, if you insist."

He was dragged along to the back hallway and out the rear entrance of the club, where Elliot was waiting for him. "I didn't like the way you were looking at my wife in there, Mr. Marlowe."

The P.I. pursed his bottom lip. "And how was that, Mr. Manning?"

Elliot took a menacing step toward the other man. "Like you've been doing more than just following her for the past several weeks." When Philip didn't respond, Elliot took another step closer. "Nobody poaches on my property, Marlowe."

Calmly, Philip pointed out the obvious. "I haven't touched any of your property, Manning, except the barstool I was sitting on." That cheeky remark earned him a punch to the gut from the beefed-up muscle.

Elliot took a couple steps closer and sneered in Philip's face. "Keep your eyes and your hands off my wife."

The private eye knew that his next comment would earn him another punch, but he couldn't help himself. "Won't that make it difficult for me to do the job you hired me to do then?"

Elliot looked like he wanted to punch Marlowe himself, but Jennifer came barreling through the door. "Elliot, stop."

He snarled at her. "This doesn't concern you, Jenny. Go back to the stage."

She shook her head. "No. I'm tired of you beating men up for enjoying the show. If you don't want customers to ogle me, perhaps you shouldn't put me on stage."

Elliot's rage was palpable. "Let him go." The bouncer gave Marlowe one last gut check for good measure before going back inside. Turning to his wife, Elliot lowered his voice. "Get back on stage. I'll deal with you later." To prove his point, he grabbed her and punished her with a bruising kiss before following his bouncer back into the club.

Jennifer stood, shaking. "Are you all right, Mr. Marlowe?"

Philip was finally able to stand up straight. "I should be asking you that."

"I'll be fine. I need to go back in."

He caught her hand in his. "Jennifer, wait." Her name on his lips for the first time sent a shiver down her spine. "You can't go home tonight."

"I have no place else to go, Philip."

Before he could offer her a solution, she ran back inside toward death.

Chapter 3

Philip made his way back to the bar, hoping to run into Max. Unfortunately, after asking around, it seemed as though the gambler was on a hot streak and wouldn't be leaving the back-room game for quite some time. Rather than sticking around and further angering Manning, Philip chose to leave. Just as he got to the door, Simon Brewster, Elliot's right-hand man, took the stage and turned Philip's blood to ice. "I'd like to apologize for the longer than usual break between sets. Unfortunately, our star singer, Jennifer Manning, is not feeling well and will be unable to continue her performance tonight." He waited out the collected groan and reintroduced the trumpeter from earlier.

There was only one reason in Marlowe's mind why Jennifer would be unable to perform again, and it wasn't a good one. He slipped through the crowd toward the offices and ran into her as she was running down the hallway toward the back door. "Jennifer!" She kept running, so he followed her into the alley. He called to her again. "Jennifer."

"I can't stop. Please don't try to stop me."

He caught up with her and grabbed her hand. "Fine. Come with me then."

They ran two blocks through alleys, and when he was sure they weren't being followed, he took a hard right before stopping at the back door of an Irish Pub. He stooped to give the stray dog sitting in the dark an ear rub. "Hi'ya Freeway. I'll bring you something to eat soon." Philip got a yip and a sneeze in response. He tugged Jennifer into the warmth of the pub's kitchen. On the opposite wall were two doors; one opened to a set of stairs to the apartment above the eating establishment. Once they reached the apartment door, Philip stuck his key in the lock and ushered Jennifer in. "You'll be safe here."

"I don't think I'll ever be safe again." She was shivering, so Philip poured her a brandy and wrapped both her hands around the snifter. "Thank you."

He was beyond relieved that she actually was out of harm's way. He thought after the announcement that Brewster made that Manning had hurt her or worse. "What happened after you went back inside?"

Her eyes were glazed, and Philip noticed that the Bleeding Heart wasn't around her neck. As she recounted the earlier events, her voice was monotone. "Mr. Brewster told me that Elliot wanted to see me in his office. When I got there, Elliot was sitting at his desk with his back to the room. Then everything went black, and when I woke up, Elliot was dead. He was shot with the gun I had earlier today. It was in my hand. I didn't know what to do." Her eyes pleaded with Philip for some reassurance. "I ran. I didn't kill him, but I ran."

Her golden, whiskey eyes locked with his and begged him to believe her. In order to help soothe them both, he reached out and ran his thumb along her jaw. "I believe you."

She took a ragged breath, and the tears came at those three words. "It had to be Simon Brewster. He was behind me when I went into the office, and he and Elliot have been at odds for a while over the way the organization is run."

Philip reached out and ran his hand through Jennifer's hair. He touched her tenderly, but she still flinched when he found the knot behind her left ear. "I'm sorry. Someone definitely hit you." He nodded toward her. "And someone stole your necklace."

Her hand went immediately to her throat. "The Bleeding Heart is worth more than enough to finance the restructuring of the business." She shook her head. "It was never really mine. Elliot used it as a way to show off his power. I was as much his possession as it was."

"Jennifer, let me help you. I have a friend at the police station who isn't crooked. I can call him and see what's going on."

She hugged her arms around her middle. "Can we wait until tomorrow? Can I just try to forget about it until then?"

Philip nodded. "It can wait. Herschel's probably pretty busy at the club right now anyway." His apartment consisted of a galley kitchen, a bathroom, a small living room, and an even smaller bedroom. It suited him just fine, but now that Jennifer was standing here with him, he was slightly embarrassed about his modest living conditions. Not able to do anything about it for the moment, he took her hand and led her into the bedroom. "You look like you're ready to drop, Darling."

Quickly, she pulled her hand out of his. "Mr. Marlowe, I appreciate your help and kindness, but I am still a married woman."

He looked at her patiently. "Technically, you're a widow, but your virtue is safe with me." He went to his dresser and pulled out a pajama set. Handing it to her, he pointed to the bathroom in the hallway. "You'll find a clean towel set under the sink and a new toothbrush in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. While you change and clean up, I'm going to go make up the sofa." He grabbed a second set of pajamas as he left the room, shutting the door behind him.

She stood there in shock and warred with herself behind the closed door. She was free. She was finally free of Elliot, but Simon Brewster could still come after her, and if she was right, he intended for her to spend the rest of her life behind bars for Elliot's murder. Along with her fear of the unknown, Jennifer felt like a fool for accusing Philip of wanting more than to just help her, but her husband and his associates had taught her not to trust men. Even though she knew not all men were as rotten as Elliot, the knee jerk reaction was difficult to avoid. She'd trusted Philip with her life, so as much as she hated apologizing, she knew she needed to. Her biggest problem, however, was not the apology she needed to make, it was her own attraction to him which scared her more than anything. When she opened the door, she found the man she'd been thinking about stretched out on the sofa. It was a bit short for his long frame, but there was no way she could share the bed with him. "Do you mind if I use the bathroom now?"

He looked over at her. "Not at all. I'm all done."

When she came back out, she stood, fidgeting. "I'd like to apologize to you."

Sitting up, he patted the spot next to him. "For what?"

She clenched her hands together and placed them in her lap. "First of all, for involving you in the mess that is my life. I've put your life in danger, in more ways than one. It wasn't fair of me to come to you. Secondly, you didn't deserve my umbrage when all you were trying to do was take care of me. I'm not used to people being nice to me without wanting something in return."

Philip covered Jennifer's hands with one of his own. She felt her heartbeat increase as the strength and heat of his skin on hers made her feel things she hadn't felt in years. Kissing him had elicited this same reaction, and it was disconcerting that just touching his hand could cause this visceral response as well. "Don't be mistaken, Darling. I do want something from you, but it isn't yours to give right now."

She looked into those fathomless blue eyes. "What exactly do you want from me?"

He brought her hand to his lips and grazed her fingertips with his mouth. "Your love and everything that goes with it."

She couldn't handle the honesty in his eyes, or the hope, so she retreated. "I…I should go to bed. Thank you for everything."

As the door closed behind her, he muttered, "I wouldn't thank me yet, Darling."

Philip spent a restless night as his nocturnal brain was filled with fantasies of the woman in the next room. He woke with the sun, knowing that sleep would elude him. Rather than toss and turn more, he padded to the kitchen in his slippers to make coffee and breakfast.

All night she'd been unable to sleep as she breathed in the scent of her benefactor from his pillow and pajamas. His words of what he wanted from her played over and over through her busy mind. Finally, the smell of coffee and bacon assaulted Jennifer's senses, and she threw on Philip's robe over her borrowed pajamas to follow the smell. She found him in the living room drinking coffee from a sturdy cream-colored mug and reading the paper. "Good morning."

He looked up as she entered. "Good morning. I hope you slept well."

She shook her head. "Not really. My mind wouldn't shut down."

He nodded. "I guess that's to be expected with what you went through last night." She didn't bother to refute that as he rose to pour her some coffee. "I've got milk in the icebox and sugar on the counter if you'd like."

She took the cup he offered. "Thank you."

...

_Jonathan's second night in the hospital was a restless one. The EEG showed erratic brain patterns, along with massive spikes of activity._

_It was disconcerting to Jennifer that his brain was so active, but his body was so still. She asked the doctor about it when he came in to check on her husband later that morning. "This is a good sign, right? It would be bad if we didn't see any activity."_

_The doctor nodded. "Yes, it's definitely a good thing that his brain is as active as it is." He held up the strip that the machine spit out overnight and pointed to certain things as he spoke. "We can tell several things from the chart." He pointed to a section of lines. "You can see where he was sleeping here with no dream activity, but here, where the spikes start jumping all over the place, his mind was obviously very involved in a dream he was having. He could also have been awake and thinking; the EEG read-out is very similar for both."_

"_If he was awake, why didn't he actually wake up?"_

"_Being awake like we recognize it is different for a coma patient. Keep talking to him, Jennifer." The doctor checked a few more things before turning back to her. "I'm very encouraged by this. For as bad as his injury could have been, Jonathan's coming through it like a champ."_

_When the doctor left, Jennifer sat down by her husband's side. "Oh, Darling, I need you to wake up. I want to see those gorgeous blue eyes of yours." She leaned over and whispered in his ear. "I miss your voice and your arms around me." Squeezing his hand, she brushed her lips over his knuckles. "I love you." To keep the one-sided conversation going, she went back to her article on the missing pendant._

Chapter 4

"After breakfast, I can give the police station a ring. If Herschel isn't there, I'll try back later."

Jennifer had her hands wrapped around the mug to warm them, even though the temperature was already in the 70s, and Philip's apartment was warm. "I'm scared. Last night, I realized that for the first time in years, I'm free of Elliot. Then reality crashed in on me, and I realized that even dead, he's still got control of me."

Philip took her mug and set it on the coffee table so he could hold her. "We'll figure this out. Herschel will help us." Her chin was buried in his shoulder, so he lifted it with his finger and gazed into her eyes. "You're not going to go to jail for Manning's murder, and I won't let Simon Brewster hurt you. Trust me."

One tear slipped down her cheek. "I do. I haven't been able to trust anyone for so long."

He pulled her close and held her for a long while. "Why don't you get some breakfast. It's late enough that Herschel might be in by now." She wandered the few steps into the tiny kitchen and put some eggs and bacon on a plate. Walking back into the living room, she heard Philip ask for Lt. Grey. He waited a bit and finally started speaking. "Herschel, it's Philip Marlowe… Yeah, I figure you're kind of busy today. Listen, I… Herschel, I need a favor… I can't talk to you about it on the phone... Come to MacCready's for lunch… Thanks." He hung up the phone, went into the kitchen, and came back out with his own breakfast. "The bad news is that we have to wait, but Herschel will be here, and we can get his help then.

She nodded. "Okay."

They finished their breakfast in relative silence, each one lost in thought. His voice startled her when he spoke. "If you'd like to clean up or take a bath, feel free."

"I don't have any clothes, except the dress I was wearing when I ran out of the club."

His eyes smoldered as they looked at her. "I wouldn't mind if you put that back on. You looked beautiful in it." She ducked her head, not used to being earnestly complimented. Philip held out his hand. "Come with me. Maybe Rose has something in the closet you could use."

Her eyebrows arched. "Rose?"

His smirk was devilish. "Jealous?"

"Not on your life. I'm just wondering how many women keep their clothes here."

He laughed. "I honestly don't know."

She pulled her hand out of his. "Mr. Marlowe, that's not funny."

He shrugged. "I'm not trying to be funny. Rose is Rose MacCready, the owner of the pub. She keeps clothes here in case her employees get spilled on and want to wear dry clothes home."

Jennifer looked at him indignantly. "Well, that's a perfectly reasonable explanation. I don't know why you didn't get around to it right away."

His eyes twinkled as he laughed. "Maybe because it was far too much fun to tease you."

She took a half-hearted swat at him. "Oh, you."

In the end, she found a dress that was acceptable and fit relatively well.

...

Shortly after noon, Herschel Grey entered the pub. Philip was seated in the back, facing the door. Jennifer sat across from him and wore a hat on her head to hide her trademark red hair. They were close enough to the kitchen that if anyone came looking for trouble, they could sneak away quickly. It took a few moments for the lieutenant's eyes to adjust to the dim interior and make his way to the couple at the table. "Philip, what's so hush-hush that…" Just then, he realized who was sitting with his friend, and his eyes turned flat. "Don't put me in a position to arrest you."

Philip motioned to the chair next to him. "I wouldn't dream of it." Again, he motioned to the chair. "You need to hear this. Trust me."

Slowly, the older man sat, and Philip and Jennifer told him everything they knew.

After listening patiently, Herschel clarified a few things. "So, you're both convinced that Simon Brewster is behind this, and you think he took this necklace, the Bleeding Heart?"

Philip answered. "Yes. Jennifer said he followed her into Elliot's office, and that's when everything went black. She had the pendent on just before she went back into the club, and she didn't have it on when we got back here. I called you because you're the only cop I trust at the department."

"I appreciate that, but I'm going to be honest. I'm not sure what I can do. I've heard rumblings of who's on Manning's payroll, but I'm like you. I don't know who to trust. I'll dig around and see what I can come up with. I'd say, for now, just keep your heads down and stay out of sight."

Jennifer looked at her newest ally. "Am I the main suspect in Elliot's murder?"

Herschel nodded his head. "He was shot with a gun he gave you after you were seen arguing, and you ran from the scene. Yeah. You're the main suspect, and Brewster is the one shouting that the loudest. The only reason I'm not hauling you in is because I trust Marlowe over here, and I know how dirty Manning was. I guess that's technically two, but you know what I mean." He turned back to Philip. "I'll be in touch. I'll get word to you somehow."

"Thanks, Herschel."

Jennifer bowed her head. "I appreciate that he's trying to help, but I don't think there's anything that he'll be able to do. Elliot's hold on this town was too strong, and it seems as though Simon Brewster just inherited it."

Philip took her hand to try to reassure her. "I'll do everything I can to help you. We can leave California if you want."

She took a deep breath and debated telling him what she needed, but she decided against it. He was already in enough danger because of her. "Would it be all right if we went back upstairs? I need some time to think, and I'm nervous being near people."

Nodding his head, Philip stood and walked with his hand at the small of her back to his apartment. "We didn't eat while we were downstairs. Would you like something?"

"No, thank you. I'm going to go lie down for a bit. Do you have any paper I could use? I should probably write my father a letter. We haven't been on the best of terms since, well, for a long time now, and there are some things I'd like to apologize for."

"Sure." He went to the little desk in the living room and got her a few sheets of stationery and a pen. Before he handed her the items she'd asked for, he pulled her to him and held her for a few moments. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

She looked at him sadly. "You've already done so much more than anyone else in my life. Philip…" Her eyes filled, and she had to take a moment to push back the wave of emotion that filled her. "I just want you to know that you are perhaps the kindest man I've ever met, and I…I care about you deeply."

After she went into his bedroom and closed the door behind her, he sat on the sofa and pondered her words. Somehow, they felt like a goodbye.

...

Later that evening, long after she should have already been on stage at The Hideaway, Jennifer enacted her plan. "Philip, I know I wasn't hungry earlier, but could we get something to eat?"

He was happy to see that she had a bit of an appetite. "What would you like?

"Irish Stew sounds wonderful."

He smiled that smile that made her heart melt, and it saddened her to think that she would never see him again. "You're in luck. That's the house specialty. I'll run down and put the order in."

"Thank you." He turned toward the door, but she called him back. In a burst of emotion, she ran to him and wrapped her arms around him. Her lips found his, and everything she felt for him poured out of her. He staggered a little when she let go.

Bringing his fingers to his lips, which were still tingling, he asked, "What was that for?"

Her face flushed at her boldness. "I never want you to think that our first kiss was just a way for me to get you to help me. I meant what I said earlier. I care about you a great deal, Philip."

He ran his thumb over her cheek, and that caress almost caused her to change her mind about what she needed to do. "I know you do."

Her smile chased away the clouds in her eyes for a moment. "You do, huh? How?"

"Mm-hm. A man in love just knows these things." He kissed her gently. "I'll be back in a minute."

When he closed the door, she took a deep, ragged breath and steeled herself for what came next. Giving him enough time to get into the pub, she snuck down the stairs and went out the back door into the alley. Philip, who was hiding behind the big oven, counted to five after the door snicked closed behind her before following her into the night.

At the corner, she flagged down a cab. Thankfully, there was another right behind it, and Marlowe got in, telling the driver to follow the one in front of him. "When we get to wherever she's going, wait for us. I'll pay you extra."

"It's your money."

Philip had his fare ready so that he could exit the cab and catch up to Jennifer. He was horrified at where they were. "Darling, wait."

She turned at the sound of his voice. "Philip, what are you doing here?"

He pulled her into the trees lining the estate. It would give them some extra cover in the deepening twilight. "I'm following you. What are you doing here? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"Of course not, but there's one thing I won't leave without. If I can get it, I might not have to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life."

"What could be so important that you would risk your life going back into Manning's house?"

"Evidence. I have proof of some of the horrible things he's done. If I can sneak in and get it, maybe I can put this all behind me." She gave him a pointed look. "Why did you follow me?"

He moved closer to her, so he could see her better. "I knew you were up to something when you kissed me, and I knew it was dangerous. I couldn't let you face whatever it was alone."

Cupping his cheek with her hand, she kissed him gently. "I don't want you to get caught in the crossfire, and I'm not going to the house. I'm going to the stables."

"Then, I'm going to the stables with you." She started to protest, but he cut her off. "No arguments. We're in this together."

He held out his hand, and she took it, leading them along the tree-lined border to the back of the estate. When they reached their destination, the light in the office was on. They crept through the door at the back of the barn as quietly as possible, but just as Jennifer was about to enter one of the stables, Simon appeared from the shadows with a gun. "Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. If it isn't the murderous little wife and her current lover."

Philip positioned himself between Simon and Jennifer. "There are several people who know a different story, Brewster."

Simon chuckled. "Oh, yeah? And what's that story, Marlowe?"

"That you're the one who shot Manning, framed Jennifer, stole the Bleeding Heart, and plan to take over the business. How am I doing?"

"I guess I should give you some credit. You're smarter than you look." Simon turned his attention to Jennifer. "It's too bad that you have to be the fall girl in all of this. I wouldn't have minded taking you over in my little coup too."

She swallowed the bile that threatened to come up, and before she could stop him, Philip rushed Simon. In their struggle, the gun went off, and Brewster threw Marlowe headfirst into the stable wall. After that, everything went black for Philip Marlowe.

Chapter 5

Jennifer dozed in her chair; her hand folded over Jonathan's. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but after sitting by her husband's side for the last 72 hours, she was bone tired. Jonathan's eyes flitted open, and he looked around the room. Things looked different, other than just the fact that he was in the hospital, but he didn't know how exactly. When his gaze landed on the gorgeous redhead next to his bed, he smiled. "Jennifer." He squeezed her hand. "Jennifer, wake up."

She blinked a couple of times, and her smile lit up the room. "Hi there, Darling. I must have fallen asleep, but I'm glad you're finally awake. How's your head feeling?"

"Like I got smacked with something really hard."

She laughed in spite of the circumstances. "Well, that makes sense, since you did."

"How long have I been here?"

"About three days."

He ran his thumb over the back of her hand. "Are you all right? I was so scared when the gun went off. You didn't get hit, did you? Did they catch Simon?"

Jennifer shook her head and gave her husband a confused look. "Darling, I don't know what you mean."

"Simon? He's the one who bashed me in the head. He was trying to kill us both. How did you get away?"

"Jonathan, I…"

He narrowed his eyes and looked at her. "Who's Jonathan?"

Jennifer grabbed the cord and depressed the button for the nurse. "I'm going to call the nurse."

Maggie came bustling through the door. "Oh, good, I see you're awake. You gave us all a bit of a scare, Mr. Hart."

Jonathan's temper rose, and it made his head throb. "What the hell is going on here?"

His wife tried to calm him down. "Jonathan, it's all right. What do you remember about getting hit?"

He glared at her. "First of all, my name isn't Jonathan, and I don't know why you keep calling me that." He sucked in a deep breath. "Before I answer any of your questions, maybe I should ask what your name is."

She spoke as gently as she could while the nurse left quietly to get the doctor. "My name is Jennifer. When you woke up, you seemed to know me."

Relief flooded his eyes. "Jennifer." He nodded. "I do know you. I'm in love with you."

Her smile reassured him even more. "Well, that's good. I happen to be in love with you, too."

She squeezed his hand, and he felt the ring on his finger. Holding up his left hand, he stared at the gold band that had been there for almost eight years. "What is this?"

Jennifer wasn't sure what to make of his erratic memory. "Your wedding ring. It's been there since we got married."

"We weren't married when I got thrown into the stable wall."

Her eyes filled. "Darling, we've been married for eight years."

When the doctor walked in, he felt the tension in the room immediately. "Hello Jonathan, how are you feeling this morning?"

"I was fine when I woke up, but now I have no idea. Everyone keeps calling me Jonathan."

"Well, you have a traumatic brain injury. It's normal to forget a few things when you first wake up. Normally, everything comes back with time."

Jonathan's voice was testy. "That's just it. I know who I am. Nobody else seems to, though."

Jennifer had a slight tremor in her voice when she asked, "Then tell us who you are, Darling."

"You know who I am, or at least I thought you did. My name is Philip Marlowe."

She repeated it because it was familiar, but she couldn't place it. "Philip Marlowe?"

"Yes." He reached for her hand. "And you're Jennifer Manning. You were married to Elliot Manning, but we fell in love." His eyes pleaded with her to remember. "I don't understand why you think I'm this Jonathan fellow."

The doctor interrupted them. "Let me check you out, then I'll let you two sort through this." He turned to Jennifer. "Why don't you wait in the hall, and I'll be out in a minute."

She nodded and left quietly. The doctor found her a while later, pacing on the tile floor. "What is wrong with my husband? He knows who I am, but it's like we live in an alternate reality."

"Mrs. Hart, the brain is a funny thing. You told me that your husband suffered memory loss before."

"Yes, but that was all-encompassing. His life was a blank slate. This is so different."

"Try working with him. Ask him what he knows and try living in that world with him for a while. Maybe that will help his perspective shift. In the meantime, I'll order a CT scan to rule out swelling or other complications. Healthwise, he's in perfect shape, which is a bit of a miracle considering the hit he took from that ball."

Jennifer nodded, wishing there was a quick cure. "Thank you." She took a deep breath before re-entering Jonathan's room. "Hi there. Is it all right if I come back in?"

His smile encouraged her. "Of course. I'm always better when you're with me."

She sat down beside him, and he immediately reached for her hand. She decided to use their endearment for each other since his real name agitated him. "Darling, tell me more about us, about our situation." As he talked and gave her the big picture, she struggled to imagine a world where she'd been married to Elliot Manning, but something he said about a heart triggered her memory. "Wait, what was that? The heart?"

"The Bleeding Heart?"

It all started to make sense. "That was a ruby and diamond pendant, right? It was owned by a mobster in the 1940s but lost after his death."

His voice was cautious. "Yes, Elliot Manning, and he was murdered."

Elliot again. "Darling, what is the date?"

"You said I've been here three days, right?"

"Right."

"Then it must be July 27."

She smiled at him. "What year is it?"

He narrowed his eyes but answered without hesitation. "1944."

Jennifer was now sure of what happened, but she wasn't sure exactly how to fix it. She just knew that she couldn't continue to let her husband live forty years in the past. "Darling, I think I know why we're confused. Will you hear me out?"

"Sure. You listened to me."

"While you were unconscious, I worked on a story about lost jewels. The Bleeding Heart is one of them. As I wrote my article, I recounted the whole story of how the pendant came to be in the possession of the mob, the woman who wore it, and the private investigator she fell in love with. Somehow, in your coma, you put the faces and names of people we know on those people in the past." She looked at him imploringly. "When you told me your name was Philip Marlowe, it was familiar, but I couldn't place it right away. Philip Marlowe is a name you used a few years ago when you were pretending to be a P.I. to catch a murderer. Maybe that's why you chose that name in your subconscious."

"But I am…Wait…Pretending to be a P.I.? You said you were writing a story. For what?"

She ignored the first question. They could get to that later. "I'm an investigative journalist." She hesitated a moment. "Darling, I want to show you today's newspaper." She took it off the nightstand by his bed and handed it to him. "Check the date."

He stared at it, trying to understand what he was seeing before he read it out loud. "July 27, 1984. 1984?" He looked up at her. "It's not 1944?"

She shook her head slowly. "No, Darling, it isn't."

"If it's not 1944, then I'm not really Philip Marlowe? I'm not a P.I.?"

She smiled a little. "Well, you are pretty good at solving crimes, but your name is Jonathan Hart. The crime solving thing seems to be a hobby for us."

He went back to looking at the date on the paper, clearly disappointed and still confused. "What does Jonathan Hart do for a living, and how did I end up in the hospital?"

She kept it simple. "You ended up here because you tried to catch a foul ball with your head. As for what you do, you own Hart Industries. You're a pretty smart guy."

Suddenly, the grin she loved was back in place. "I must be if I married you."

"Aww."

"A foul ball? I was at a baseball game?"

Just then, Max came through the door to see how Jonathan was doing. "Mr. H., you're awake! We was at the game together. Dodgers versus Pirates."

"Max?" Jonathan looked at Jennifer, who nodded. He tilted his head to the side as he studied his old friend, but all he could see was the gambler from his dream.

"How's the head?"

"A little mixed up apparently. Who won the game?"

"Dodgers, but we didn't see the end. You was out cold."

Jonathan gave a curt nod. "Other than a baseball game, how do we know each other, Max?"

Max looked at Jennifer and back to his boss. "How do we know each other?" Max looked back at Jennifer. "He don't remember again?"

Jennifer chuckled a little. "It's a little more complicated this time. He knows who we are, but while he was in the coma, and I was bouncing research off him, his brain made him think he was Philip Marlowe, living in 1944."

Max nodded. "1944 wasn't so bad." He looked at Jonathan, intrigued.

"Did you know me in 1944?"

"Yep. You were a professional gambler."

"Was I any good?"

Jonathan laughed. "You were the best, and no one could bring you down because you had dirt on all the dirty players in town."

"Sounds like a good life to me."

"So, how do we know each other now, Max?"

"Me and you? We go way back. Before Mrs. H., before Hart Industries, when you was still wet behind the ears. I mighta had to box 'em a few times." Max told Jonathan the story of how they met and stuck together through the years. The younger man was fascinated by their unusual friendship, but he felt an instant camaraderie with the grizzly-voiced character. "Well, I'm gonna head back and check on Freeway. He wanted to come with me, but I hadda say no."

"Freeway?"

Jennifer smiled and nodded. "He's the baby of the family."

Max turned from the door. "Oh, by the way. Mr. Lasorda's been calling off the hook. He's worried sick aboucha. Can I tell him yous gonna be okay?"

Jonathan gave Max a blank look. "Who's Mr. Lasorda?"

Max was incredulous. "Who's Mr. Lasorda? I ain't gonna tell him you don't remember. He's the manager of the Dodgers. You play poker together." Max was still mumbling, "Who's Mr. Lasorda?", on his way out the door.

Jonathan turned to his wife. "I know the manager of the Dodgers?"

Jennifer just laughed. "You know a lot of people, Darling."

He was still a little taken aback that he knew the manager of his favorite team. "Hm. That's pretty terrific." Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. "Freeway. He was in my dream too. He lived in the alley behind MacCready's."

This time it was Jennifer's turn to ask. "Rose MacCready?"

He gave a curt nod. "Uh-huh. She owned the Irish Pub, and I rented the upstairs apartment from her."

Jennifer laughed. "Well, here, she runs the newsstand near the entrance to Hart Industries."

Jonathan gave a curt nod. "Huh. This is strange."

Jennifer smiled at him. "I'll bet, but we'll get through it together."

Chapter 6

Over the next twenty-four hours, the doctor ran a battery of tests and found nothing of concern in the results. He prescribed rest and told Jonathan to follow up in a week to make sure everything was healing well.

Max drove them all home, and Jonathan was impressed when they drove through the gate toward the house. "We live here?"

"We do. We bought the house shortly after we got married."

He turned to her in the backseat. "You said I owned Hart Industries. What is that?"

"Well, not to get too technical, it's a conglomerate of about 20 companies. You started it all with an idea about transistors, though, and it skyrocketed from there."

"How long have I been doing that?"

"Fifteen years. Your company's stock went public in the spring of 1969."

They pulled up in front of the house, and Jonathan got out of the car and turned to offer Jennifer a hand. He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, and the little current that ran between them felt the same in real life as it had in his dream. He took in everything as he entered the house. Without knowing it was home, it felt like home, and that was a comfort to him. Max's voice pulled him back. "I'm gonna go slip into something more comfortable before getting dinner started."

Jennifer took Jonathan's hand and led him to the living room while Max disappeared around the stairs and down the hallway on the other side. "Darling, the doctor mentioned that you shouldn't drink while taking your medication, but would you like a club soda?"

He nodded. "Sure. Thanks." He followed her to the bar, looking around the room. "I could fit my whole dream apartment in this room." He watched her pour his soda. "We've been married for eight years?"

She turned and smiled at him. "Almost. In a couple of months, it will be eight years."

Jonathan wandered over to the piano and looked at the photos decorating the top of the sleek, black surface. "We look pretty happy." He turned back around to her. "Although I can't imagine how I could be anything less with you."

She blew him a kiss. "Aww." Walking over to him, she handed him his drink before sitting on the sofa and patting the seat next to her. "Come join me?"

Once he was settled, he asked some of the questions he'd been wanting to ask, although he wasn't sure if he wanted the answers. "If I ask about some of the people in my dream, will you tell me the truth about them?"

She set her drink on the coffee table and took his free hand in hers. "I've never lied to you, and I won't start now."

Removing his hand from hers, he rubbed his thumb along her jaw. "You are so beautiful." He stared into her eyes for a long moment, and the magnet that always drew them together tugged them closer until his lips lightly brushed hers.

Max walked in through the swinging door. "Dinner'll be ready in a little bit." He turned and walked right back out, yelling, "Sorry," over his shoulder.

Jennifer laughed. "Max's timing is always a little off." Sitting back with her legs tucked under her, Jennifer studied her husband. "What questions do you have for me?"

Jonathan took a deep breath. "Elliot Manning."

She took her husband's hand in hers again. "He and I dated when I lived in London before you and I met. It was a brief entanglement that didn't end well, and I haven't seen him since. I never loved him, and I was never married to him. I can't imagine why I was in your dream."

Shaking his head, he shrugged a little. "I don't know either. It wasn't a happy marriage, though." He paused and thought back. "You mentioned that you were a possession to him, like the Bleeding Heart."

"That's why our relationship was short-lived. Elliot was a narcissist, very passive-aggressive, egotistical, and he had a mean-streak. And those are his good qualities." A thought occurred to her. "You actually met him once before I did. You beat him in a race."

"A foot race?"

Jennifer got the giggles. "No, a regatta. You are, by far, the better sailor." She looked at him pointedly. "You're the better everything."

His eyes smoldered as he looked at her, but he tabled her comment for now. "I can't tell you how glad I am to know that you were never serious about Manning. What about Simon Brewster?"

"That's an interesting one. What did he look like in your dream?"

Jonathan narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, what did he look like? Does it matter?"

"Well, the last time we saw him, he'd had plastic surgery to look just like you. He wanted to kill you and take over your life."

"Just like he did to Manning in the dream." He lost himself, trying to figure out what it all meant for a moment. "No, he didn't look like me. He must have looked like he did before his surgery."

Max came through the swinging door again. "Dinner's ready. I set the patio table."

"Thanks, Max. That sounds great."

Throughout dinner, Jennifer filled in some of the details of their life together, and Jonathan told her a little more about the dream. He had one last question for her. "Darling, whatever happened to the mobster's wife, the private investigator, and the guy I knew as Simon Brewster?"

Jennifer folded her napkin. "Well, Simon was arrested and ended up dying in jail. No one knows what happened to the woman and the P.I. Cynics say that they were killed, and their bodies were never found. Romantics like to speculate that they escaped and ran away together, living out the rest of their lives hopelessly in love."

Jonathan took Jennifer's hand in his. "I think I'm going to side with the romantics on this one."

Her smile made his heart beat a little faster. "You always take the romantic route."

Once they were finished, they headed back into the living room, but they didn't stay for long. "Darling, I'm feeling a little tired."

"We can head upstairs if you'd like. I'm just going to poke my head in the kitchen to say goodnight to Max."

A few minutes later, she found him standing by the stairs when she came around the corner. "I didn't go up."

"I'm so sorry. I forgot that you wouldn't know which room to go to."

"It's all right. I wanted to wait for you, anyway." As they walked up the stairs, Jonathan had his hand at the small of her back, and she smiled at the familiarity of it. Opening the door, they walked into their room, and Jonathan took in the feel of it, just like he had when they entered the house. "I can't explain it. It doesn't look familiar, but it feels like home. Does that make sense?"

"Perfect."

He took her hand in his and brought it to his heart. "Darling, I…" He was fumbling and not sure how to express what he wanted to say to her. She simply took her other arm and wrapped it around his neck. When he looked into those gorgeous golden-flecked eyes, he began again. "I imagine I've forgotten some pretty spectacular moments with you."

She smiled slowly. "You'll get them back, and until then, we'll make more."

"There's one memory I'd like to make with you tonight."

Her eyes darkened. "Oh, and what's that?"

He rubbed his thumb along her cheek and moved in closer. "One that begins like this." When his lips brushed over hers, he realized that he'd never wanted a woman more. As he did in his dream, he kissed her like he was a dying man, and she was his last breath, but it was so much sweeter in reality.

Jennifer's knees felt as though they would give out any second as her husband deepened their kiss. He had always been the most extraordinary lover, but tonight, there was something even more poignant about the way he held her. He took his time to bring her pleasure, and she was reminded of their first time in London so many years ago.

As they lay tangled in each other's arms, drifting between sleep and awake, she heard him whisper, "I've never loved anyone the way I love you."

Snuggling a little closer, she kissed his chest before murmuring, "I love you, too."

When Jonathan woke the next morning, he took stock of his surroundings. The comfortable mattress, the large bed which would never have fit in his room above the pub, and the gorgeous woman in his arms. Finally, he opened his eyes and shifted, so Jennifer was lying partially underneath him. He watched her as her eyes flitted open and closed, adjusting to the morning light. "Darling, you're staring at me."

"No, I'm looking at you."

"Looking at me? While I sleep?"

"Um-hm. You're pretty adorable while you're sleeping."

She couldn't hold back the laugh. "I'd ask how your head is after a good night's sleep, but I can tell you're fine."

His cheeky grin made her laugh again. "I was guaranteed a good night's sleep with the way you put me to bed last night."

Jennifer blushed slightly. "Jonathan."

"I did have a strange dream, though."

"You did?"

"Um-hm. I was in London. I think it was London, and I met you, but it wasn't you."

"Darling, we met in London. I told you that last night."

"I know, but I kept calling you Louise. Why would I call you Louise?"

When he looked down at her, one tear escaped and trickled down her cheek. "Because that was the name I gave you when we met for the first time at the bar. You didn't like Jennifer Edwards very much at the time."

His eyes lit up. "So it wasn't a dream, it was a memory? Wait. Why didn't I like you?"

She hugged him tightly. "It was a memory, and that's a bit of a long story."

Before she could say anything else, he was kissing her senseless. "Making love to you last night seems to have sparked my recall. Let's see if we spark a little more this morning, shall we?"

As his mouth found that little spot that made her moan, his name escaped her lips on a sigh.

Jennifer and Jonathan spent the rest of the day lazing by the pool and taking a long walk around the property. His memory seemed to be coming back in bits and pieces rather than all at once like it did the time before. She wondered if it was because it wasn't a total memory loss like the previous one. In the long run, it didn't matter. As long as he got his memory back, and as long as he loved her, nothing else mattered. They stopped by the pond, and Jonathan wrapped his arms around his wife. Giving her a gentle kiss, he closed his eyes as another memory flashed in his mind. "We were walking along a beach in Hawaii, and we found a bottle in the ocean."

She laughed at him. "Which you planted."

He laughed with her. "It seems you got me back, though. If I remember correctly, I ended up getting washed ashore with a wave."

Laughing at the memory all over again, she admitted, "My sides hurt from laughing so hard at you that day." Her eyes grew serious, and she ran the backs of her fingers over his cheek. "That's one of my favorite things about our relationship. We always manage to make each other laugh."

He pulled her tightly to him. "Have I told you lately how much I love the way you giggle?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Not in so many words, but you definitely showed me several times between last night and this morning."

Jonathan's eyes darkened, and he kissed her gently. As he ran his thumb over her cheek, he rested his forehead on her hers. "I know I was confused when I woke up, and I remember pleading with you to believe that I was Philip Marlowe. I was so afraid that if I wasn't him, you wouldn't be in love with me, and I couldn't handle the idea of you not being in my life."

"Oh, Darling. I will always be in your life, and I will never love anyone the way I love you." She took her finger and drew a heart around his heart. "You are my Hart, and I am yours forever."

He kissed her gently before threading his fingers through hers and walking back toward home.

~ _the end_


End file.
